


I'll Hold to the Good and the True

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dorothea is the best and most obnoxious wingman, Established Relationship, Felix is Felix and writing him is so much fun, I live for hers and Felix's friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sorry these tags are all over the place, background Dimileth - Freeform, because it's Sylvain, don't let the route fool you, just know that Thea ships it hard, mentions of others but not enough to tag, second chapter is just an extra bonus that I didn't think fit but couldn't bring myself to delete, this is mindless fluff and I cannot be stopped, welcome to the club girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: Life has been a whirlwind since the war ended, and although there is still much work to do Felix and Sylvain still manage to find time for each other. It is in one of those moments the Felix realizes just how much Sylvain means to him, and how far he is willing to go to keep their childhood promise-- one that involves not just dying together, but living the rest of their lives at each other's side.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Roo Panes' _Ran Before the Storm_, which always makes me think of them. It's a bit more melancholy than this fluff and deserves its own fic, but I like it anyway. 
> 
> And now, my offering on the shrine of Sylvix. Enjoy.

Taking tea in the kingdom capital was different than having it at the monastery. There were more places to have it in than the courtyard or the gardens, for one. Felix knew that Sylvain had always appreciated the atmosphere at Garreg Mach—the fresh green smell, the crisp clean air. The titter of other couples deep in conversation.

Yet there was so much more life here in Fhirdiad. There were so many venues, so many types of tea to try and sweets to taste, so many people to watch. Sylvain had always been comfortable in a crowd; he _liked_ people, liked being of the center of attention (when it didn’t mean more responsibility for him, at least). Being in the capital was easy for someone like Sylvain, and he was reveling in the new life the city had to offer in the wake of Edelgard’s war.

Felix hated it. He hated crowds, hated being in public more than necessary. The citizens of Fhirdiad were beginning to recognize them on sight, and the two of them had been forced to fend off more suitors and people seeking connections than he would have liked.

Actually, Felix did most of the fending.

Still, Sylvain was beginning to grow weary of it. Felix could always see it in his eyes when he’d lost his patience: the way the light went out like a curtain drawn shut over a dim window. Those were the times Felix was at his best: he had a reputation for being rude, after all, and he leaned into it in those moments, whisking Sylvain away from the people who only wanted to use him and, later, taking the time to remind the redheaded idiot just whose idiot he was. He’d gotten pretty good at it, too, in the happy, hopeful months since the war.

It had become a matter of pride for Felix—and Sylvain certainly wasn’t complaining.

Felix glanced up from his hands, chancing a look at his boyfriend’s face. (_Boyfriend_—that term was still new, still strange on the tongue, even after all this time. It didn’t seem enough, somehow, although Felix would never admit it aloud. Let Sylvain think he was just embarrassed every time the redhead introduced him as such; it was half-true, anyway.) Their eyes met, and he found Sylvain’s were amused, curious and pleased and… something else Felix couldn’t place. Those few seconds proved to be too much, and Felix dropped his eyes again. He hated eye contact in most circumstances, but Sylvain’s direct gaze was enough to unsettle him in an instant. It always had been, ever since they were kids—too keen, too clever and calculating and yet, somehow, too kind.

Felix fidgeted, fingertips worrying the cloth of his pant leg with nervous energy. What he _really_ wanted to do was run, but he’d be damned if he gave in to cowardice now. Sylvain—his closest friend, his partner, the man that he loved—deserved better than that. Hell, that was why he was here in the first place, in this quiet, out-of-the-way café sipping Bergamot and struggling to trade pleasantries with the one person in all of Fodlan who understood him. Sylvain Jose Gautier deserved the world, or at least a better one than the one he’d been handed; and that, Felix had come to realize, included himself.

This was an important step for both of them, and Felix would stand his ground like the lovestruck fool he was. He owed Sylvain that much, even if it killed him.

Avoiding the other’s eyes, Felix swallowed hard.

At this rate, it just might.

His boyfriend leaned forward, and the movement pulled Felix from his thoughts. Sylvain leveled him with a look, and if Felix hadn’t known the man as well as he did he might have been worried. But he could see Sylvain’s eyes crinkling at the corners even as he attempted to look stern over the edge of his teacup, and thus the stare made his heartrate only increase by half instead of nearly doubling.

“So,” Sylvain drawled, “what’s this all about?”

“What? Nothing!” Felix replied automatically. He stared across the street, over Sylvain’s shoulder, and sighed. “Okay, that… That’s a lie.”

“Shocker.” When Felix glared at him, Sylvain sat back in his chair. “You’re not what anyone would call subtle, Felix.”

Felix colored at that but chose not to respond. Instead, he sipped his tea, the motion giving him time to consider his reply. “Can’t I just want to spend time with you?” That should have been a safe answer, but the light in Sylvain’s eyes practically danced as he leaned in again, elbow on the table.

“By your own admission: no.” This time, Felix growled, only to feel immediately guilty when Sylvain followed it up with, “Although I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sound nice.”

“Sylvain…” 

Felix sighed and started to reach for him across the table, but the redhead chuckled, waving his hand in dismissal.

“I’m just giving you a hard time, Fe. I know you love me.” Felix’s face grew even hotter, but that was one statement he couldn’t deny in good conscience. Even if they were in public. “It’s just, you know, you don’t exactly go out of your way to shower me in affection. Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

“That’s—fair,” Felix admitted, trying (and failing) not to scowl. “But that’s why I’m here. I’m, uh—I’m trying to—you know.” He huffed, choosing to reach inside his coat for his little peace offering instead. “Anyway, I brought you something.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You got me a present? You know my birthday isn’t for--”

Felix slammed his hand on the table with more force than was strictly necessary. It made Sylvain jump and Felix muttered an apology before settling back in his chair, leaving the gift on the table.

“Just take it.”

Dutifully, Sylvain obeyed. It was a small envelope, sealed with wax, and Sylvain eagerly broke it with a flick of his thumb and dove into the contents.

“Felix,” and Sylvain was grinning ear to ear now, “_Felix_\-- darling, babe, sweetheart—these wouldn’t be tickets to Dorothea’s new opera, would it? The ones that have been sold out for months?”

Well, that was a better reaction than he’d hoped for. “You can read, last I checked.”

To his surprise, Sylvain reached across the table and took Felix’s hand in his own. “Okay, I _gotta_ know: how’d you do it? I’ve been begging Dimitri for weeks to pull a few strings for his old pal Sylvain and all I get out of him is a stern “You shouldn’t be leveraging your new political clout for such trivial favors.” Honestly, sometimes he sounds more like Ingrid than Ingrid does!”

Oh. Felix hadn’t thought to ask Dimitri. That might have been easier.

“I wrote to Dorothea, actually. Told her she owed me for saving her life at Gronder.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth. Oh, he had absolutely saved her life in that battle (and countless others, in fact), but his real leverage had been simple honesty. Goddess, that letter had taken him nearly two weeks to write and another three before he decided to send it, but the reply (carrying not only the tickets but three embarrassing pages of Dorothea’s enthusiastic advice) had well been worth the effort.

Sylvain looked shocked. “Felix, you _didn’t_.”

He shrugged in response, lips quirked into a soft smile. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Anyway, I’ve got them, and now I’m giving them to you.” He gave Sylvain’s hand a gentle squeeze. “They’re for tonight, though. I, uh, hope you’re not busy.”

“For once, no,” Sylvain chuckled, “but I don’t know if Ingrid can come on such short notice. She’s been working closely with the Professor—sorry, I guess she’s the queen now—anyway, they’ve been working pretty closely on the whole farmland thing this week and—”

“A-actually,” and Felix knew his face was red, could feel the heat of it creeping into his hairline, “I was hoping _we_ could go. You know. Together.”

Sylvain stared at him, hands still clasped on the table between them. “Felix, you _hate _the theater.”

“But you don’t,” Felix countered stubbornly.

“And dressing up.”

“So?”

“Last time you didn’t even watch the show.”

“I wasn’t there to watch the show!”

_I was there to watch _ _you. I wanted to make you happy. _

Felix chewed on his lip_._ He couldn’t even recall the title of that performance, but he still remembered the delight, the enraptured sparkle in Sylvain’s eyes while the story unfolded on stage. He was unguarded in those moments—not the heir to Gautier, but just Sylvain. Just himself. And that was more than enough for Felix.

‘_You’re beautiful.’ Say it, damn you! ‘Sylvain, you’re beautiful. I could watch you forever.’ _But his mouth had stopped working. He couldn’t say the words, no matter how much he wanted to.

Coward.

Face aflame, Felix took a deep breath. “If you don’t want me to come, just say so. I just thought—”

“No.” Sylvain tugged on his hand, nearly pulling Felix onto the table as the redhead leaned in to meet him. Felix could feel his breath ghost across his face, and if he wasn’t awash in mortification before he was now.

“Sylvain, we’re in _public._”

“I don’t care.” The redhead rested his other hand on Felix’s cheek, his gaze intense. Felix froze, his heart pounding away in his chest as he forgot, for a moment, how to breathe. “I would love to go with you,” Sylvain said, his voice soft and slow, drawing out each word as if it would make them easier to understand.

“Th-then we’ll go,” Felix answered. It was almost a whisper. “Tonight.”

“Tonight.” Sylvain grinned then, letting him go and settling back in his chair. Felix found he was both relieved and disappointed and sat back more slowly; his legs were shaking so badly, he nearly didn’t trust himself to find the chair again.

“You know you’ll have to dress up again, right? And your best leathers don’t count.”

“I’m aware.” Also part of the plan, even if it was one he was dreading. “Dorothea made that _very_ clear.”

That made Sylvain laugh. The sound eased Felix’s nerves somewhat, and he found himself smiling back.

“…Thank you,” he said after a moment, like he hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted, and Sylvain laughed again.

“Why are you thanking me?” he asked. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Felix crossed his arms, directing his glare across the street again. “Just shut up and drink your tea.”

* * *

A few hours later found them in a carriage across town, Sylvain’s arm around Felix’s shoulders as he talked animatedly about his expectations for tonight’s performance. They were dressed for the occasion, Felix with his hair loose for once and pulled over one shoulder. Sylvain always seemed to like it when he wore it down, liked running his large hands through it and twisting it round his fingers.

Felix flushed at the memory and smiled to himself. He’d die before admitting it, but he kind of liked it, too.

He took a moment to look at Sylvain, _really_ look him over from head to toe. It was unfair, really, how good he looked. Sylvain made everything look so effortless—and maybe it was. Maybe he had been blessed by the goddess in a way Felix was not, with his perfect smile and his perfect hair and his perfect _everything_, damn him to Aillel. Redheads weren’t supposed to wear red, or so Felix had heard, but Sylvain pulled it off like he pulled everything off: wonderfully, and without even trying. The deep crimson of Gautier complemented his pale skin in ways that made Felix want to… well. It made him want quite a few things, and none of them appropriate for a carriage ride through the capital.

But Sylvain was still talking, so Felix forcibly pulled his eyes away from his boyfriend’s collar and back to his face and tried his hardest to pay attention. He found it difficult to follow the who’s-who of the opera; he had never been interested before, found it a waste of time even, but Sylvain made the most boring things engaging. That was actually part of the problem: Felix was so caught up in watching _him_ that he had trouble paying attention to his words.

Sylvain was always talking—you couldn’t pay the man to shut up— and usually Felix found the unending chatter to be obnoxious at best. But when Sylvain talked about something he cared about, when he let down enough of his guard to let the real Sylvain through…

“Sorry,” Sylvain laughed suddenly, stopping mid-sentence to glance out the window in embarrassment, “you probably don’t care about any of this. I’ll shut up now.”

Felix shook his head, nudging Sylvain with his elbow. “Nah. Keep talking.” Sylvain’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’m sorry, did you say _keep _talking?”

Felix crossed his arms and slid further into his seat (and, maybe, into Sylvain’s side). “If you heard what I said, why are you asking me?”

Sylvain laughed again, this time with delight, and wrapped his arms around Felix (who promptly squawked and tried to fend him off). “Who are you and what have you done with the real Felix?”

“Let go of me!”

“Not until you tell me all your secrets.” Sylvain kissed his hair, then tilted his boyfriends face to meet him. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? You’re like a whole other person today.”

For a moment, Felix just stared back, face and ears aflame. Sylvain was searching his eyes for something; maybe he’d been serious about uncovering those secrets and was trying to read Felix’s mind. And maybe it was working. Under that stare, Felix wanted to tell him everything: about the plan, about how much he loved him, about the hole in his chest when he thought of _not_ being with him every moment of every single day.

“I-idiot,” Felix muttered instead, dropping his eyes. They settled on Sylvain’s lips—bad idea—and Felix squeezed his eyes shut. His entire field of vision was Sylvain. Nowhere was safe. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m just me.”

Sylvain hummed, and then Felix felt lips on his forehead. Then his nose. Then breath on his lips.

“Felix?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Felix.”

He opened his eyes and Sylvain was smiling at him, soft as morning light, and Felix swore under his breath. This close, there was no doubt Sylvain had heard him. But he didn’t say anything, didn't point it out or rub it in his face. Instead, he glanced at Felix’s lips, cheeks flushed, and whispered.

“May I?”

Felix exhaled.

“Please.”

Sylvain’s lips pressed against his for a brief, blissful moment before the carriage rocked violently beneath them. Pain spiked where there had been pleasure, the taste of blood in his mouth and a sharp ache in his forehead, and from Sylvain’s swearing he wasn’t any better off. Felix opened his eyes, pressing a hand to the cut on his bottom lip and glowering at the carriage.

“Ow,” Sylvain grumbled. He was massaging his skull with one hand, but stopped when he looked at Felix. “Shit, Fe, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a cut,” Felix answered. He still had to push Sylvain’s hands away as the other reached for him, trying to get a better look. “Knock it off! I’m fine!”

“Lemme see.”

Felix huffed. “_Why?_”

Sylvain leaned in again, taking Felix’s hands in his own so he couldn’t fight him off. This time, Felix didn’t want to.

“I was going to kiss it better. You know… Like when we were kids.”

“Oh.” Felix felt his throat go dry at the look in his eyes. “Well. Go on, then.”

The redhead grinned and covered Felix’s mouth with his own, pressing his hands into the seat behind him. There was nothing child-like about the kiss.

* * *

Sylvain broke them apart with reluctance, murmuring something about being presentable for the opera. Felix could have cared less, trying to pull him back down, but the idea of being caught making out in the back of a carriage like a couple of horny teenagers brought him to his senses. Of course, he also made a promise to himself to pick up where they left off later and hopefully somewhere more appropriate.

His hair was a complete disaster, and despite his initial protests Felix finally allowed Sylvain to comb it back into some sort of order with his long fingers. Felix returned the favor with less success; Sylvain’s hair never seemed to behave, even on its best days, and with a laugh and kiss of Felix’s fingertips Sylvain declared it was good enough and no one would notice anyway, probably. He always looked like a mess, he insisted, so no one expected anything different.

“_You_ look mostly respectable, though,” he said, which didn’t make Felix any better. But then Sylvain was sweeping his bangs to the side and tucking a stray lock behind his ear, and Felix wondered, briefly, what it would be like to have those fingers in his hair every morning and decided he quite liked the idea.

The opera house was far more crowded than he expected, even knowing how long the show had been sold out. Some of the faces they knew (or rather, Sylvain knew, but he’d always kept up with social connection better than Felix ever could), but both were surprised to see so many commoners in the throng. Felix had heard rumors that Dorothea was on a crusade to make the arts more accessible to everyone and should have known it was no exaggeration; still, the sight was a welcome one. He’d always held with the idea that nobility was overrated (among other things) and was happy to see those barriers being broken down, little by little. Maybe this war had changed the continent for the better, after all.

Small victories were sometimes just as important as large ones.

The songstress had sent a footman to meet them at the door and see the pair to their seats, and with a grin Sylvain offered his boyfriend his arm and led them both into the hall. The usher was polite enough, but Felix was too busy watching Sylvain’s features as he made conversation with the man. He nearly tripped on the stairs to the upper level, which would have been far less embarrassing if the usher hadn’t _just _told him to watch his step, and was Lord Fraldarius alright, and _goddess_ Sylvain clearly wanted to laugh but was (for once) being far too gracious than to do it to his face. Felix just muttered something in dismissal and they continued, Sylvain pulling him closer “for safety’s sake.”

The whole thing was worth it when they reached their destination. Sylvain’s eyebrows shot up when he realized they were to be seated in one of the private boxes adjacent the stage, and he looked to Felix in wonder and no small amount of suspicion as they took their seats. Felix didn’t dignify it with a verbal response; instead, he just smiled, one of his rare, shit-eating smirks that he knew drove Sylvain absolutely wild.

“You are the _worst,_” Sylvain grumbled, not upset at all. “Seriously, I could kill you right now. How did you manage this?”

“I’d like to see you try.” Felix snorted, crossing his arms. “You haven’t trained a day since the fighting stopped. And anyway, isn’t that a poor way to say thank you?”

“You _like_ fighting, you jerk. It’s the highest compliment I could think of.”

Felix just snorted again and nudged him. “Quiet,” he murmured, settling into his chair with a pleased glint in his eye, “the performance is about to start.”

* * *

Dorothea was a goddess; of that much, Felix was sure. He’d heard her sing before, back during their time at the monastery when they’d all been dragged to choir practices and feast days, or (once or twice) when she thought she was alone in the gardens, or when he passed by her dorm room in the mornings. To hear her on stage, a proper performer in all her glory, was something else entirely. Felix wasn’t a religious person, but hearing his friend in concert was an almost-spiritual experience.

Music was something Felix had absolutely no talent for and generally no real interest in. Still, there was something about Dorothea’s voice that shook him to his core.

Once, just before intermission, Sylvain had head him sniffle and leaned over in surprise.

“Are you _crying?”_

Felix had shoved him and hissed at him to shut up, even while he scrubbed at his face. It came as a shock when Sylvain had done just that, smiling to himself and throwing his arm around Felix (who allowed it, just this once). Felix wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort him or just being handsy, but the warmth was welcome either way. And if Sylvain’s own eyes were wet with unshed tears, he was wholly unashamed of them.

Sylvain was the first on his feet when the curtain fell, applauding with so much gusto that Felix thought his arms might fall off. His enthusiasm pulled Felix from his seat like a tether, his hands clapping of their own accord.

“Wow,” Sylvain laughed, “I knew it would be good but that was _so good!”_

“Eloquent,” said Felix; yet he couldn’t help but smile. “You liked it?”

“_Liked_ it? Felix, did we watch the same opera?” Below them, Dorothea had finally reappeared on stage, and the auditorium roared with praise—Sylvain included. He leaned out over the balcony, cupping his hands around his mouth to shout, “Yeah, Thea!! That’s my girl!”

“And that’s my ear,” Felix grumbled, pulling him back over the rail by his coat. “Careful, idiot, you’ll fall.”

“I will not!”

“You will,” he argued, “and how are you supposed to tell her how much you enjoyed it when you’re dead?”

That got Sylvain’s attention, and he (finally) set his heels firmly on the floor. “We get to see her?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “You really think she would invite us here and not want to talk our ears off?”

“Invite? I thought you had to blackmail her into giving us tickets!”

“It wasn’t blackmail, you fool! I just—” Felix stopped, face reddening as he realized the usher had returned. He cleared his throat. “What.”

“Miss Arnault will see you now,” the man said patiently. Though his tone was polite, his eyes spoke of his suspicion.

“Excellent!” Sylvain grabbed Felix’s hand and pulled him after the man; either he was ignoring the dark look or it had gone right over his head. Whichever it was, Felix found himself being dragged back down the steps, unable to pull away with Sylvain’s fingers slotted between his.

* * *

“Dorothea! You are a vision!”

Standing at the door to her dressing room, still regal and striking in her costume, Dorothea laughed with musical delight. Sylvain, finally letting go of Felix’s hand, slipped into a formal courtly bow and kissed hers instead.

“You haven’t changed,” she said, not at all bothered. She looked genuinely happy to see them, and Felix felt very much the same. She looked well, which was a relief; he’d been worried she was pushing herself too much, with all of the performances and the travelling. “Hello Sylvain. Felix. It’s been too long.”

“It hasn’t even been a year,” Felix reminded her; Sylvain nudged him with his boot. “What?”

“Be nice!”

“I _am_ being nice! How am I not being nice?”

Dorothea shook her head, gesturing for them to follow as she laughed again and turned to her room. “Well don’t just stand in the doorway, come in.”

“Sorry we didn’t bring… flowers…” Sylvain trailed off as they followed her into the dressing room. He whistled, impressed, and Felix privately echoed the sentiment. The room was full of gifts: beautiful bouquets, piles of letters, boxes full of chocolates and jewelry and all manner of things.

“Any more and I’ll have to open a shop,” she said, eyes sparkling, “but thank you. I appreciate the thought.” She cleared space on her settee, dumping her many gifts (some of them still unopened) onto the floor and gesturing for them to take their place. She sat herself down at her vanity and began to pull the pins from her hair.

“So,” she said, meeting their eyes in the mirror, “what did you think?”

That was, apparently, the opening Sylvain had been waiting for, because he launched himself into a litany of praise and enthusiasm. Felix let him, leaning out of the way with more amusement than annoyance as his boyfriend became more and more animated. It was adorable, really, how excited he was, and Felix rested his elbow on his knee and watched, eyes following the sweep of Sylvain’s smile and broad, excited gestures.

“And what did _you_ think, Felix?”

Felix sat up with a start. Had she noticed? Maybe she hadn’t noticed. The two of them locked eyes, Dorothea’s eyebrow raised and painted lips curled in a knowing smile.

Ugh. She had _definitely_ noticed.

“I thought it was, uh—good,” he fumbled, trying to recollect his thoughts and pretend he had _not_ just been caught staring like a besotted fool.

“Just good?”

“Dorothea, he _cried_,” Sylvain said, quite unhelpfully, and Felix went even redder.

“I did n—okay, fine, a _little_,” he admitted, sulking when Sylvain laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder. “Look, I’m not good at this—this _artsy_ stuff. It’s not really my thing. But I liked it. You’d have to be an idiot not to.” He paused, gaze flickering around the room seeking a safe place to land. “You’re…. you’re really talented, Dorothea.”

“Why Felix,” she said, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.” There was no real venom in it, and Dorothea just laughed.

“It’s quite impressive, what you’ve done with the troupe,” Sylvain said, and Felix shot him a grateful look. Let _him_ be the center of attention again. “Throwing together such a show and in such short time, opening it up to the commoners? It’s all done remarkably well. It’s been a long time since I actually attended a show, but I can’t remember it ever being this crowded before. Have you had any problems? Security? Loud objections?”

“Not as much as I had anticipated,” she answered, turning to face them proper. “The first few shows were a bit rough. Despite all we’ve been through, there are some people who just _cannot_ get over themselves.” Dorothea smiled. “But the prince—king—has been very supportive, and that has helped. That, and I just won’t allow such nonsense in _my_ theater.”

“That’s very like you,” Felix said, voice low with amusement. “You’ve never backed down from a fight when it was something you believed in.”

The observation surprised her. “Maybe I was wrong—you _have_ changed,” she said, obviously pleased.

“Not as much as you think,” he argued. It bothered him less now than it would have months ago. “I’ve always thought highly of you, I just never said.”

“Always?” Dorothea frowned, waving her hairbrush at him like a weapon. “I seem to recall _someone_ thinking I was just a vapid, man-hunting gold digger with no brain in her head—”

“Alright, alright, almost always!” Felix ran a hand over his brow, pained at the memory. “I was an idiot back then. I’m… sorry about that.”

“Oh, Felix, that’s sweet of you. But you don’t have to apologize,” she said. The brush found a place in her hair, to his relief. “We were young and, honestly, a bit stupid. I don’t hold it against you.”

“Yeah,” laughed Sylvain, “I mean, you were pretty mean to me, too. Treated me like I was a complete moron.”

“I _still_ think you’re a moron,” Felix grumbled, unable to keep a straight face. Sylvain laughed.

“It’s true!” he said. The redhead shrugged, then leaned back against the seat with his arm thrown over the back. “You really should treat me better, you know. I’m a fragile creature, Felix. If you’re not careful, I might just believe all the horrible things you say to me.”

“I can’t make the truth any less true,” Felix said simply, and the mock-surprise on Sylvain’s face was well worth it the ensuing conversation. Before Sylvain could fire back, Dorothea leaned forward, lips poised with a question Felix did not much think he would like.

“_Well_,” she said, drawing out the vowel so that it wavered playfully, “I can see where all the rumors come from.”

“What rumors?” asked Sylvain.

Dorothea grinned, leaning on her hand. “That you two are getting pretty serious.”

Felix balked. There were _rumors?_

Dorothea winked at him, and that was when he knew he was being played. How could she? She’d read his letter. She’d _replied!_ This was just an excuse to tease him again, despite knowing _exactly_ how Felix felt. He’d opened up to her in a moment of vulnerability, of _need_, and she was just going to exploit everything he had ever—

Sylvain shifted behind him and cleared his throat.

“I mean,” he said softly, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “I guess.”

Oh. Maybe Felix wasn’t her intended victim after all.

Feeling sheepish, he glanced at Sylvain. Was he _blushing?_ Felix felt pockets of laughter bubbling up from his lungs and forced them down, trying his best not to giggle. Felix Hugo Fraldarius did _not _giggle. Still, it was hard not to sound amused when he turned his body to face Sylvain and asked, incredulous, “You _guess?”_

Sylvain, impossibly, became even redder. “I mean, we are! We have been—it’s just—” He looked between Felix, who was genuinely curious about his answer, and Dorothea, who sat perched on her stool with an impish grin. “Not fair,” he groaned. “Aren’t _you_ supposed to be the shy one?”

Dorothea whistled, low and impressed. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day.”

Sylvain laughed, high and nervous. “You’re putting me on the spot!”

Goddess, this was too much.

Of their own accord, Felix’s hands found their way to Sylvain’s face and tilted his head down, forcing him to meet his eyes. Sylvain stared back, red to his roots.

“You are…” Felix sighed. “I can’t _believe_ I’m saying this.”

“Saying what?”

Felix dropped his eyes, the prolonged eye contact overwhelming. Sylvain had _no idea_ what that face was doing to him, did he? “Goddess above, I can hardly stand it.”

Dorothea made a gagging noise and stood, slamming her brush down on the vanity. “Ugh, no—_I_ can hardly stand it. Out—get out! If you start making out in my dressing room, I’m calling security.”

That made Sylvain laugh, full-bellied and shaking; he leaned on Felix for support, hands on his arms and forehead resting on his shoulder. The sound was catching, contagious, and Felix found himself laughing, too. It was subdued, nothing compared to Sylvain’s roar, and he hid his face in Sylvain’s chest _mostly_ so he didn’t have to look at either of them. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was because the whole situation was ridiculous. But he couldn’t help it; he was so gods-damned _happy_.

Dorothea rolled her eyes, smiling even as she pulled the door open. “I mean it,” she said, “get out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were both drunk. You’re so cute it’s disgusting.”

“Jealousy is not a good look on you, Dorothea,” said Sylvain, finally picking his head up and wiping his eyes; he pecked Felix on the cheek before pulling them both to their feet. “Fine, fine, we’re going. You’re probably tired, anyway.”

“Yes—tired of watching you two make eyes at each other,” she laughed. They met at the door, and Dorothea pulled him into a hug. “Thank you both for coming. It’s always a comfort to know there are friendly faces in the crowd.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” answered Sylvain, who returned the hug with a hearty squeeze. “Thank you for having us. You going to be in town long?”

“Oh, I’ll be in town a while longer, I think.” She grinned at Felix, who suddenly felt very transparent. “I’ve got some things to see to, yet.”

“Excellent. We should do lunch sometime.”

“Lunch would be nice. Your treat, of course.”

Sylvain chuckled. “Of course, my lady.”

Then it was Felix’s turn to say goodbye. He was still getting used to regular physical affection, but he offered her a hug anyway, knowing it would make her happy; Dorothea leapt into his arms with a laugh, pulling him in tight.

“It’s been good to see you, Felix,” she murmured in his ear. “We’ll catch up soon, yes?”

“S-sure,” he answered. Now that the night was drawing to a close, Felix was starting to feel anxious. That feeling doubled when she pulled away and gave him a wink. Goddess—he was going to be sick.

“Thanks again for the tickets, Thea,” Sylvain was saying behind him, already in the outer hall. Felix joined him, eyes glued to the floor. “It really has been a magical evening.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Dorothea teased, leaning against the doorjamb. “Have a good night, you two. Be careful going home.”

“Who, us? We’re always careful!” Sylvain waved as he started down the hall. Felix turned to follow.

“Oh, Felix?” He stopped, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “One more thing.” Dorothea closed the distance, a gentle smile on her face instead of the playful one from before. She let the silence stretch for a moment, then laid a hand on his arm. “You’re really good for each other, you know that?” she asked softly, and Felix flushed.

“I… yeah,” he said dumbly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’ve just never seen you like this. You… you’re so happy. It’s a good look for you.” She glanced over his shoulder where Sylvain was no doubt waiting; too far away to hear, or so Felix hoped. “You both deserve a bit of happiness, after everything we… well. Just after everything.” She patted his cheek, something the old Felix would have found patronizing but present-Felix found comforting. The sick feeling in his stomach wasn’t gone, but now he just felt nervous instead of ill.

“Good luck,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

The small cloth box in his pocket suddenly felt like the weight of the world. “But… But what if he—”

“He won’t.” Dorothea tilted his head up again, green staring into amber. “He _won’t_.”

It was a moment before Felix could overcome the sudden tightness in his chest enough to speak. “Thank you.” It was barely a whisper, but she heard all the same.

“Of course.” She nodded over his shoulder again. “Don’t keep him waiting.” Felix nodded and returned her smile. Then he was joining Sylvain on the stairs, avoiding the redhead’s pointed stare.

“What was that about?” asked Sylvain.

“Nothing.”

“Really? Didn’t look like nothing.” The redhead grinned, poking Felix’s arm. “Since when have you and Dorothea been so close?”

Felix sighed. “Leave it alone, Sylvain.”

“You’re not cheating on me are you?“

Felix jerked his cloak tight around him. They could probably hear his teeth grinding in Almyra.

“_Sylvain_…” It was a warning—one his boyfriend chose to ignore.

“Because, I mean, I wouldn’t blame you. She’s totally gorgeous, and I—"

Felix growled. “I am _not_ _you_.”

That had been a mistake—he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth. Regret settled heavy in his stomach like a stone as Sylvain stopped walking, his face carefully neutral. The fake smile that followed was worse. Anger he could deal with, but Sylvain had always buried his true feelings behind that smile. But he didn’t have to lie to Felix, he _knew_ that, and the fact that he was doing it anyway made Felix crazy.

Especially because it was all his fault.

“I-I didn’t mean…”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sylvain said. “I deserved that. It was a pretty stupid joke.” His lopsided grin was back. “Come on, let’s just go home.”

Felix sighed. “Sylvain…” But his boyfriend was already walking, and he wasn’t looking back.

Goddess damn it.

* * *

The plan had failed.

Really, it was Felix who had failed. If he had just kept his mouth shut, if he hadn’t been so _himself_, they would be walking along the city streets right now, holding hands and leaning on each other’s shoulders and enjoying the beautiful night air. They might even be at the hillside plaza, standing by the overlook so Felix could show Sylvain their bright new world, the world they had fought and bled for; a world where they could build a new future, together, just like they had promised.

But that future was lost, because Felix was an idiot. Their borrowed carriage trundled along, carting them back to the castle. Neither said a word; instead, the creak of the coach and clop of the horses on the cobbles filled the silence between them. Sylvain was leaning against the wall, staring out at the city through the open window, expression unreadable. He hadn’t spoken to Felix since the swordsman had so spectacularly put his foot in his mouth. In fact, he’d hardly spoken at all, except to exchange pleasantries with the other theatergoers as they waited for their carriage to arrive. He had been quiet ever since, lost in thought somewhere behind closed-off eyes and patronizing smiles.

Felix needed to fix this.

He stared at his hands as if they would give him some sort of answer. An apology didn’t seem like enough, especially the way Sylvain had blown him off before. But what could he say, other than he was sorry? Those words felt empty, even in his own head.

He was stupid—so unbelievably, irredeemably stupid! How could he have even thought such a thing, much less said it out loud? He knew Sylvain wasn’t that person anymore, and yet he’d still…! Felix sighed, letting his head fall back against the seat. It was like they were seventeen again. Seventeen and lacking all sense.

Damn it, he _knew_ better.

“What?”

Felix’s head snapped up. Sylvain was staring at him, eyebrow quirked in a question. “You sighed,” he said, when Felix didn’t answer.

“I…” _I’m sorry._ “…I’m just angry.”

“Aah.” Sylvain’s smile was strained. “Sorry. Guess I never actually apologized, did I?”

“Not at you.” Felix let his head fall back once more, closing his eyes. “Me.”

“What? You?”

Felix sighed again. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He felt Sylvain shift, turning to face him, but Felix couldn’t bring himself to look.

“Felix, what are you talking about?”

Well. Now or never.

Felix heaved himself upright and forced himself to face Sylvain. “Look,” he said, and _goddess_ the eye contact was going to be too much, he couldn’t do it, “Sylvain,” but he could, and he _would,_ he was no coward and he would do this because he had to, “Sylvain, I’m sorry.” It was leaving him in a rush now, dam broken. “I’m more than sorry. I never should have said—I know you wouldn’t do that, you’re not like that, not with me, and I shouldn’t have said what I—I _swear_ I don’t think of you like that and I knew as soon as I said it that it was wrong and—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down!” Sylvain was laughing now, and just the sound of it made his heart feel lighter. Even so, Felix dropped his eyes, staring at his lap instead.

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered, the admission burning in his throat.

“You’re not.”

“I _am_.”

“Okay, you kind of are,” Sylvain sighed. “But you’re _my_ idiot.”

Felix scoffed. “I hurt you.”

“Only a little.” Strong arms wrapped around him, and Felix tensed as Sylvain pulled him against his chest.

“W-what are you—”

“I’m forgiving you,” he said, simply, as if it wasn’t everything Felix needed to hear. “Seriously, stop beating yourself up. War’s over, remember? I’m the only one allowed to kick your ass.”

Felix snorted. “You wish.” But he let Sylvain hug him, too uncertain to return it. “…I don’t deserve you.”

Sylvain laughed, squeezing him tighter as his shoulders shook. “I don’t know where you got that idea!” he said, when he could manage it. “I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t dumped me yet.”

Horrified, Felix pulled away. “Don’t you _ever_ say that again,” he hissed. He wanted to punch Sylvain for being such a self-doubting _moron_; instead he grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a kiss. If words wouldn’t work, maybe action would.

Sylvain scrabbled for a moment before settling his hands around Felix’s waist. His fingers trembled against him, but Felix only pulled him closer, desperate to show him how much he was wanted—how much he was _needed_, because Felix couldn’t go one more hour without telling this man exactly how he felt.

When they broke apart, chests heaving, Sylvain’s cheeks were pleasantly pink. He was staring at Felix like a thing of unthinkable beauty, eyes wide and wet and heartbreaking. He looked like he wanted to say something—his parted lips struggled to form around words that just wouldn’t come. For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Sylvain Jose Gautier was speechless.

Which was good, because Felix wasn’t finished.

“Never again,” he said, voice soft and low, “you hear me?” His arms wrapped around Sylvain’s neck, one hand winding its way into his thick curls and the other brushing his cheek with his fingertips. “I _chose_ you, Sylvain. I didn’t make that choice lightly.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain breathed, his smile returning, “yeah, I know. It’s the same for me.”

“Would you pick me again?”

It was out before he could stop it, his mouth moving of their own accord. Felix expected panic to follow, but he felt strangely calm. Unafraid. It felt _good_, and Felix (who never put much stock in the divine) took that as a sign.

Sylvain was looking at him strangely, head cocked, trying to puzzle out his meaning. “I mean, yeah,” he said, clearly uncertain. “If I had to do it all again, I’d pick you in a heartbeat, Fe.”

“That’s… not what I mean.” Felix pulled away, dropping his hands only to take Sylvain’s in his own and resting them on the seat between them. “I…”

He’d rehearsed what he wanted to say a thousand times—no, a hundred thousand—but Felix had never been great at speeches and he couldn’t recall a single word of it now. So Felix did what he always did when plans went awry: he winged it.

“Sylvain, I love you.”

Stunned, Sylvain just stared at him for a moment. Then he was smiling, the curl of his lips blooming slowly like a flower unfurling in the dawn, until it was bright, it was brilliant, it was happy-goofy-lovestruck-beaming—and Felix almost froze at the sight of it. Did he even know how beautiful he was?

“Ugh. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked. “I’m just smiling.”

Like a vision. “Like an idiot.”

“I can’t help it. You just said the L-word.”

“What are you, five?” Deep breaths, Felix. “Will you just listen? This is important.”

Sylvain didn’t stop grinning, but he nodded. “Sure. Sorry, go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

Felix tried to gather his thoughts. There was so much he could say, and Sylvain deserved to hear it all. After all, when it really came down to it, what _didn’t_ Felix love about him? Sure, okay, maybe there were a few things—like his constant need to embarrass Felix, for one. But they were small in comparison to all Sylvain was and all he had to offer the world.

Felix had such admiration for his strength, his loyalty, and his courage to stay true to himself when the whole world seemed against him. And there were other things: things like the way his smile made Felix warm all over, how his hair looked like firelight when the sun caught it just right; how he accepted Felix as he was, how he gave of himself and never asked for anything in return. How they complimented each other in a way that only an actual goddess could have orchestrated.

But Felix was a simple man. Sylvain was the one for finesse; if his tongue was silver, Felix’s was made of iron: sharp, biting, caustic, and cold. Poetry, eloquence—they were beyond him. He didn’t know any different.

But he didn’t have to lay his soul bare all at once. One day he would find the right words.

They had time.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said finally. “About our promise.”

“The one from—”

“Yes, _that_ one,” Felix huffed, cheeks turning pink. “It’s just… I realized it’s meant something different to me over the years,” he explained, not meeting Sylvain’s eyes. “When we were kids, it stood for our friendship. But that was childhood. We grew up and things… changed. And it meant other things. Comrades. Patriots. Brothers in arms.” Felix sighed. “But the war’s over, now. Now we’re not fighting just to see another day, to keep each other alive, and… I’ve been trying to figure out what it means.”

“It took me a while to put it together, but I think I’ve finally got it.” He lifted their joined hands. “It’s _this_,” he said softly, and he pressed his lips to the back of Sylvain’s. “We said we’d always stick together,” said Felix, “even til death. And you’ve always been there for me, Sylvain.” His thumbs traced gentle circles over Sylvain’s hands, half nervous tick and half genuine affection. “It’s about time I held up my end of the bargain.”

“Wh… What do you mean?” The redhead was watching him with rapt attention now, eyes flickering between his face and their hands. Felix could feel Sylvain’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips, competing with his own hammering pulse for dominance. It was a small comfort, knowing that Sylvain was just as hopeless as he was.

Felix reached into his pocket, fumbling for the box with trembling fingers. He nearly dropped it as he drew it from its hiding place—goddess, he was a nervous disaster—but managed to catch it with his one free hand, lifting it into the light with a sheepish smile. Sylvain inhaled sharply when he saw it, his grip white-knuckled.

“Felix Hugo, are you serious?” came out in one hissing breath—not a question but a prayer, and one Felix was more than ready to answer.

“I’m always serious.” The lid snapped open, and on a pillow of black velvet lay a small silver ring. It was a simple affair, a solid band with a single sky-blue stone, but what it represented was far more complex, far more delicate and precious than any ring could ever convey. And when he offered it to Sylvain, his heart in his throat, he offered himself.

“I don’t just want to die by your side,” Felix said, voice trembling, “I want to live. We fought for our future, and we won—but that future is worthless to me if you’re not in it.” He took one deep, steadying breath, then met his eyes.

“Marry me.”

Sylvain stared, so still Felix was sure he had stopped breathing. Then, haltingly, he reached for the box. But he didn't take it. His fingers twitched, suspended, trembling with indecision. He looked so happy, so disbelieving, so _terrified._

“Is this for real?”

Felix had almost missed it, so soft was the question. With a sigh, he set the ring box on his knee, taking Sylvain's free hand in his own once more. It seemed to ground Sylvain in the moment, his dazed eyes finding their focus again.

“It’s real,” he said.

“You're sure?”

Felix wanted to shake him; he wanted to kiss him, _hard,_ to push him down against the seat and _show him_ how sure he was. But… maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe he’d misjudged how much Sylvain wanted _him_. The idea made him sick, but he had to know.

“Sylvain, if—” He voiced cracked, and Felix cleared his throat. He would _not_ cry, whatever happened. “If you don’t want to, just say so.”

For a moment, Sylvain looked shocked. Then Felix felt hands on his face, warm and strong, and Sylvain was pulling him closer with a large, watery smile.

“Gods, no—Felix, Fe I’m so sorry. I do, I _really_ do.” It came out in a rush, so unlike the rehearsed lines and self-confident flattery that so often poured from his mouth, and Felix felt awash with relief.

“You do?”

“I _do_,” Sylvain said again, voice low with earnestness, and he kissed Felix’s nose before pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry,” he continued. His eyes were closed now, breath ghosting over his lover’s face. “I just… I’ve been so happy just being with you that I never actually thought of being _with_ you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense—”

“I know. I know it doesn’t,” and Sylvain shook his head. “I guess what I mean is I was content. You know. Just being the guy you loved. But here you are, offering me the rest of your life and I—” He cut off with a gasp that sounded as if the breath had been punched from his lungs, and some part of Felix’s brain realized it was a sob. Goddess, if Sylvain started crying, _he_ was going to cry and—

“Sylvain, don’t,” he said, gentler than he’d meant to. _Don’t go there. Don’t feed yourself those lies._ He’d meant it to be firm, reassuring, but his words had the opposite effect, for Sylvain took another shaky, tearful breath and said,

“Sorry! Sorry. I know, I just—It’s just hard for me to—Sorry. I’m so stupid.”

“No,” said Felix, and he pulled Sylvain to him, letting his lean on his shoulder and running his hands through his hair in the small, soothing circles he’d come to know Sylvain liked. “No, you’re not.”

The redhead sighed, his body shuddering as all the tension finally, _finally_ left him. He wrapped his arms around Felix again, burying his face against his neck. “Goddess, Felix,” he whispered, “I love you.”

Heart swelling within him, Felix hugged him back. “Yeah… I love you, too.” Sylvain hiccupped into his shoulder. Felix let him and pretended not to notice.

The silence stretched for a moment, then two. He was back to tracing spirals on Sylvain’s scalp, fingers gently soothing as the redhead relaxed in his arms.

“So,” he said finally, his smile soft, “is that a yes?”

Sylvain barked out a laugh, fingers curling in Felix’s shirt as he buried his face in his neck. “I—yes,” he said, “_goddess_ yes.” He pressed his lips to Felix’s jaw, then sighed with contentment and whispered against his skin. “Yes forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The second chapter is just a little bonus scene/alternate ending that I couldn't get out of my head, so click through if you'd like that.
> 
> As always, you can find me on Twitter as @imagymnasia.
> 
> Thank you again! Muah


	2. Epilogue (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little scene I couldn't get out of my head. It didn't really fit the tone of the rest of the fic, but I liked it anyway. It's very... Sylvain.
> 
> Anywho, ENJOY THIS EXCLUSIVE EXTRA BONUS CONTENT AT NO COST TO YOU!

Once he’d mastered himself, Sylvain drew away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. With a sigh, Felix dug a handkerchief from his pocket—not something he usually carried, but one of the servants must have snuck it into his clothes before they left. “Here.”

Sylvain accepted it with a chuckle, dabbing at his eyes. “Well this is a role reversal, isn’t it?”

“Just shut up and wipe your face. You look like garbage.”

“At least I’m _hot_ garbage.” He winked at Felix, who (for once) did not roll his eyes. Instead, he waited until Sylvain tucked the handkerchief away and looked at him expectantly.

Oh, right. The ring.

Felix set the ring box in Sylvain’s hand. But Sylvain shoved it back at him, shaking his head. “Nuh uh, you gotta do it right.”

Felix spluttered, indignant. “What are you—” Sylvain offered him his left hand, long fingers splayed—a picture of elegance were it not for his smirk.

Oh.

Felix grumbled something under his breath—even he wasn’t sure if they were words or just irritable growls—and lifted the ring from the box. Then he took Sylvain’s hand and—

“Wait!”

This time, Felix did roll his eyes. “What?”

“Ask me again.”

“What?”

“Ask me again.” When Felix just lifted an eyebrow, Sylvain sighed. “To marry you.”

“_Why?_”

“Just do it. Please?”

Felix huffed, red to the ears. “Fine.” It was harder, this time, making the words come. But he’d do it. He would do anything for this man.

“Sylvain,” and then, because that didn’t seem serious enough, “Sylvain Jose Gautier, will you marry me?”

Sylvain grinned, his honey-brown eyes twinkling. “I will,” he said, and Felix slipped the ring over his finger. The sight of it, seated right below his knuckle and looking like it belonged, made Felix’s breath catch.

It must have had the same effect on Sylvain, because he stared at it for a moment, his smile satisfied and glowing.

Then he surged forward and Felix was on his back on the bench, Sylvain’s arm wrapped around his waist and the other cradling his head. The move surprised him, but what really left him gasping was Sylvain’s face above him, eyes dark and dangerous and mouth grinning wide.

“Wh-what are you—”

“Just getting a good look.” Felix, already impressively red, threw his arm over his face. It was an instinctual move, a Felix Hugo Fraldarius classic—and in classic response Sylvain took his wrist and pulled his arm away, pinning it to the seat.

“A-and w-what are you looking at?”

“My ex-boyfriend.” Felix surged up, free arm already swinging. But Sylvain pushed him back down, laughing. “Because you’re my fiancé, now,” he explained, as if Felix hadn’t gotten the joke—as if that would somehow make him less punchable. And it shouldn’t have made Felix feel so goddess-damned happy, but he couldn’t be held accountable for his emotions when Sylvain was looking at him like one of the great wonders of the world.

_Fiancé. Future husband. _It had a nice sound.

“Fine,” Felix muttered. “I’ll allow it. But if you’re going to stare at me like that, you’d better take responsibility for your actions.”

“Oh?” Sylvain wiggled his eyebrows. “And how would you suggest I do that, future hubbykins?”

Felix made a face. “One, never call me that ever again. Two, just kiss me already.”

Sylvain laughed, tangling his fingers in long indigo locks. “I think I can manage that,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all! Thanks again for reading and making it this far with me. <3 Much loves!


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